


Vorace

by HopelessBanana



Series: Unerwidert [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gap Filler, Kaneki doesn't really care, Language of Flowers, M/M, Shironeki | White-haired Kaneki, Tsukiyama realises he's in love with Kaneki, Unrequited Love, and google translate, rampant use of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelessBanana/pseuds/HopelessBanana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted to eat him. That was a fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vorace

**Author's Note:**

> half of this was written in the wee little hours of the morning, the quality just kind of deteriorates the further you go lmao  
> eh i'm not pleased but i just love these two so much and i haven't posted a thing in an age so here we go
> 
> i got all the flower meanings from this site: http://www.victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html  
> no idea if they're all legit or not but this is what you get folks

He wanted to eat him. That was a fact.

Kaneki Ken would be the greatest meal Tsukiyama Shuu would ever eat. Tender strips of muscle flavoured by the thin layer of fat that (no matter how hard Kaneki trained) would probably never budge; that sweet, musky, spicy aroma he carried, a potent mix of masculine and feminine; those rare, smoke-grey eyes, a delicacy by themselves, especially in a nation as homogeneous as Japan; and above all the smooth paleness of his skin, almost like marble.

Tsukiyama daydreamed of biting through that inviting skin, blemishing it, marking it. He could imagine it already, lapping his tongue across the wound, licking up the blood. He could imagine the heady taste dancing across his tastebuds, that intoxicating scent filling his nose and his head. ( _Calmato_ , Shuu, _be cool_.) The flesh would fall apart as he chewed, the perfect consistency, not too chewy like most of the younger people he ate. Tsukiyama preferred old men usually, yes, that was true, like how a human would choose an aged wine, ripe with flavour. Kaneki-kun, however, Kaneki-kun was young and strong and healthy, and his skin would not be shrivelled like a date, but those smoky, matured notes would still remain. All that he had been through had only enhanced him, a lifetime's worth of pain serving as a seasoning and garnish to the perfect dish. Yes, Kaneki-kun would be his greatest delicacy.

He wanted to eat him.

He wanted to eat him like a man dying of thirst wanted water. He wanted to eat him like an addict wanted his fix. He wanted to eat him like any number of clichéd things, but he would not.

Yes, Tsukiyama Shuu wanted to _eat_ Kaneki Ken. But more than that, he wanted _Kaneki Ken_.

Even if he tried to pinpoint the exact moment it started, he knew he couldn't. It had come on so gradually, without his even realising until it was late. He didn't fall in love, he sank into it.

***

He had figured it out after a sparring session one evening, when he had bested Kaneki. The younger man was improving all the time, his agility and his reflexes and his indomitable quickness to learn all expediting the process, so it was a less common occurrence these days. Tsukiyama had gotten in a lucky hit, spearing Kaneki through his gut, feeling the squish of his kidney against his fist as he ripped through his belly. Startled, Kaneki had spluttered blood on Tsukiyama's shoulder, falling against him and grabbing hold. The warmest feeling had crept through his chest, some sense of being whole, as they stood, almost embracing. When he realised he was in the rather unromantic position of having his hand in Kaneki's abdomen, he pulled back, taking him by the shoulders to support him. Kaneki had stared at the floor, eyes almost glossy as his insides knit themselves back together slowly. “Désolé, Kaneki-kun,” Tsukiyama said, neither sympathetic nor sarcastic. In response, Kaneki shook his head slightly, clapping a hand on Tsukiyama's shoulder. They would probably look like comrades on a battlefield, he thought, the way they were standing. He drew him closer. 

When Kaneki had recovered, he simply announced they were done for the day, go home. Impassive as ever, he had. But rather than sleep, he had lain awake in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, running his hands over the rich purple sheets and imagine instead they were the smooth plains of Kaneki's chest, the stretch of his back his battlesuit left exposed, the muscular forms of his calves. “Mon _dieu_...” he mumbled, reaching a hand down past the waistband of his trousers. He came with a groan, the imagined image of Kaneki writhing underneath him lingering, and fell asleep. The next morning, he felt up to putting a name to the feeling. “Lust”, he tried, testing the word out in his mind. No, he decided, he had lusted after men and women before, but this was different. Sweeter. 

He could barely bring himself to think the word, but when he did it washed over him like warm rain. It couldn't be anything but, he decided, the giddiness every time he saw him, the coiling tension in his stomach, the overwhelming attraction: it was all there. “This tremolo in my heart...” he whispered to himself, ghosting his fingers across his chest with a dozy grin. 

Kaneki didn't speak a word of French or Italian, he knew, so he took a risk the next day. “Mon coeur, Kaneki-kun,” he greeted him, followed with a small but gracious bow, his hand over his heart and his gaze filtered through fluttering eyelashes.  
“Tsukiyama-san,” he replied with a short nod, opening the door. Ecstatic he had gotten away with the pet name, Tsukiyama straightened up, adjusted the collar on his suit jacket (purple with a subtle black stripe), and stepped through. On the sofa, Banjou gave him the same suspicious look as always, and Hinami smiled at him from beside the coffee machine. He sniffed surreptitiously, trying to discern the different scents coming from it, but its smell was masked by the enticing aroma of _Kaneki_. 

That _délicieux_ Kaneki-kun led him down the stairs into the basement, without a glance at Tsukiyama the whole of the way. And, oh, he was ravenous, but now it wasn't just for his flesh. He starved for his attention, a glance from those steely grey eyes, a nod of his head (with his hair bouncing forwards in a pale cloud), a kiss from those delicate pink lips... ( _Calmato_ , Shuu, _détendez_.) Brushing his fringe to the side in one graceful motion, he tried to brush those kinds of thoughts away with it. They reached the training room, and Kaneki paused to open the door, searching through the keys on the ring to find the right one. Even that enchanted him, watching his nimble fingers navigate... He needed to stop this, he was becoming obsessed and it was unseemly: he was Tsukiyama Shuu. Tsukiyama Shuu could hunger and lust but falling over himself with affection was just not the done thing, not even for a boy like Kaneki. “Okay,” the boy muttered, stepping through the open door and leaving it to bang open, bouncing off the dent he had made in the wall over time.

Tsukiyama followed him anyway. He would follow him anywhere.

They fought for a good two hours, low kicks and high punches, none pulled. It was vicious, animalistic, almost passionate. Kaneki's hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his little pink mouth hanging open as he gasped for breath. Swirls of lust gathered in the pit of his stomach, and Tsukiyama found himself drawing closer, taking his hand. The skin was warm and yielding, but the surge of heat that travelled up his arm reminded him where he was and what he was. He pretended he had only wanted to help him up. “Thanks,” Kaneki said, pulling his hand away. “We're done for the day.” 

He waited to be dismissed, as always not leaving until he was told to. If asked, he would have said it was so he could make sure the younger man didn't want anything else, but in truth his reasons were more selfish. “You can go.” 

***

One time, Kaneki didn't tell him to leave, and he sat with Hinami discussing flowers in the living room.

“Carnations mean fascination or devoted love,” he said, drumming his fingers on the side of the armchair. “But each colour has its own meaning, too. Like roses.” Stretching himself out, he counted on his fingers as he recalled them. “Hmm... Pink means 'I'll never forget you', purple signifies flexibility and change, white means innocence or pure love, yellow disappointment or rejection, a light red means admiration, and darker reds mean love.”  
“How about... these?” Hinami pointed out another character, holding the book open on her lap.  
“Edelweiss,” Tsukiyama said aloud, writing the kanji out on the lined paper beside them on the table. She watched the strokes of his pen with fascination. “Daring, courage or noble purity.”

“This one?”  
“Euphorbia, persistence.”  
“And this?”  
“Hydrangea, meaning either 'thank you for understanding', or frigidity and heartlessness.”  
“Uh, these?”  
“Lungwort, 'thou art my life'.”  
“This one!”  
“Campanula,” Tsukiyama replied. “Humility or grief.”

The next time Tsukiyama came by, he brought flowers for everyone. White roses and woodbine for Hinami, who smiled sweetly as she figured out the meanings (innocence and brotherly affection, because he couldn't try hard enough to be good to her), but watched eagle eyed what he gave the others. She frowned at first when she saw Kaneki's bouquet.

“Daisies... pure love or loyalty,” she said quietly as Tsukiyama was leaving. “Rose of Sharon, consumed by love.” He turned slowly, meaningfully and she stared up at him, keeping eye contact as she recited their meanings. “Lavender roses, enchantment. Star of Bethlehem, atonement.”  
“What of them?”  
“They're what you put in onii-chan's flowers.”  
“Oui. You're a clever little lady.” His smile was nervous, not threatening for a change.  
“You're in love with onii-chan.” Tsukiyama was suddenly met by the urge to chide himself for being quite so obvious. “I won't tell him!” she stammered suddenly, eyes widening a fraction as she shook her head.  
He tilted his chin down and pursed his lips. “Why not?”  
Hinami only shrugged and turned to let him leave. “See you tomorrow, flower man.”

Of course, Tsukiyama didn't bring flowers again.

***

_They were laughing, both of them, hands clasped tightly together as Tsukiyama threw open the bedroom door. White paint on the walls and a plush bed, not the decrepit hovel that had been all Kaneki had allowed him to give back then. His Kaneki deserved luxury, perfezione, deserved happiness and the very best life could offer. Sun poured in through the window, gauzy pale curtains brushed aside and the trees outside green and rustling just so. The beams of light sifted through his hair, reflecting around the edges so it almost looked like he was wearing a halo. And god, was he an angel to him._

_He lay back, sinking into the bed and smiling softly, eyes gazing up in the same adoration he had always longed to see. “Tsukiyama-san,” he said. Two words, full of longing and desire and adoration and love and best of all, trust._  
“Mon trésor, Kaneki-kun, je t'aime,” Tsukiyama whispered. He started mumbling in French, leaning down and hovering above him, whispering heartfelt words of love against his collarbone. Kaneki grabbed him by his tie, pulling him down into the sweetest kiss.  
“You can take a bite, Tsukiyama-san,” he gasped. 

_He felt his eyes blacken, and in a flash he was pulling back Kaneki's shirt (the top three buttons had popped off at some point, he realised) and tracing his lips across his shoulder. Searching, he found the fleshy part near the top, soft and warm and inviting. He sunk his teeth in. The richest flavour he could remember ever tasting danced across his tongue, but he frowned at it, because it didn't seem to fit. Soft butterfly kisses pressed against his neck and pulled at his tie, nimble fingers working carefully at the knot, but despite it all Tsukiyama wasn't paying attention._

_There was no way a taste so bland could be his Kaneki-kun._

_“This is a dream,” he mumbled, his entire demeanour laced with disappointment. The bright vision faded in a second and Kaneki was pushing him away virulently, giving him a look so full of disgust he thought his heart would break.  
“Get the fuck off me,” he spat._

He gasped as he awoke, heart still pounding, but soon he couldn't remember what he had dreamt at all. A sense of melancholy stayed with him the whole day.

***

They were training again, and both were watching each other. Tiny rivulets of sweat trickled down the back of Kaneki's neck, and Tsukiyama traced it with his eyes, imagining licking it off himself. Where the smaller man was quiet, contemplative, studious, he was most definitely distracted. Kaneki lunged forwards, reaching to twist his arm and break it, and Tsukiyama responded a second too late. Falling backwards a step, he used his other arm to try and reposition it so it would heal and kicked out half-heartedly with one leg. It was easy enough to dodge; Kaneki grabbed it and spun him around onto the floor. Without hesitation, he pinned him down, hovering over him. 

“Why are you pulling your punches?” he demanded, slamming his fist against the floor next to them. His hair hung down damply, and his grey eyes were searching and desperate, and his lips were inches away. Tsukiyama could just sit up and kiss him, he ached to.  
“ _Mon coeur t'appartient_ ,” he said in response, eyes beseeching, but Kaneki only scowled in confusion.  
“I don't understand a word of what you say, and you fucking know it.” He stormed through the door and upstairs, yelling his dismissal over his shoulder behind him.

“Do you even try?” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his injured arm. It was nothing, but then again it wasn't what really hurt.

***

Kaneki had heard about the raid on Anteiku. If he knew him at all (and he knew he did), he knew where he would go without even thinking about it.

Tsukiyama followed him. He would follow him anywhere.

“I won't let you go,” he said, trying to sound strong, intimidating perhaps. “If something happens to you, Kaneki-kun, what am I supposed to do?” Tsukiyama stepped forward, panting, unable to imagine the picture he made with his hair so out of place and tears streaming from his eyes. Undignified. Fallen. _Une risée_. He didn't care.  
“Tsukiyama...”  
“Like this, you won't know why I've been controlling myself, will you?” A surge of hunger struck him, and he could smell him through the crisp night air, sweeter than ever. Saliva dampened his dry mouth. He wanted to eat him. He wanted to take him into his arms and never let go. Instead, he clutched at his hair, trying not to rip it out but feeling the strain at his roots. “How can I hand over... my greatest delicacy?”

“...I'm aware of the danger.”

Something snapped then, and for a second he almost said nothing. Then he looked up with eyes like fury, his kagune shooting out from his back and wrapping itself around his arm as he leapt forwards, screaming, attacking him viciously, a man gone mad.

“Have you not seen their numbers? Are you _blind_?” He swept his arm forwards, his breath hitching in a sob. “Even with your battle power, even with my connections, even with _the power of the Tsukiyama family, there's nothing to be done!_ ” Hysterical with grief, however premature, he brought his kagune down, aiming for Kaneki's head. “What do you want me to _do_ , Kaneki-kun?”

His throat felt torn from the screaming, so unlike his usual smooth tone. The screams ripped from him, unstoppable. “If you just think about it, you'll understand there's nothing to be done! _Kaneki Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen_!”

“I won't let anyone get in the way of my eating you, Kaneki-kun!” His stomach was pleasantly full as he spoke, and rather than rumble in anticipation at the suggestion, it somersaulted in disgust. “Even if that person _is_ you, Kaneki-kun!”  
“Tsukiyama...”  
No, he didn't want to hear it. Kaneki wouldn't understand and he couldn't tell him, he could never tell him. How could he make him believe? “ _I won't allow it_!”

He didn't want to kill him, really. No matter how hard he struck out, all he did was waste his energy, but he needed to do something to try and stop him, no matter how useless it was. Of course, that was what Kaneki was thinking, too. He almost laughed at the thought, but he was utterly drained. All he could do in the end was fall to the floor.

“For dear life, Kaneki...” He'd almost said _Ken_. He wished he had. The words that followed were not the words of the Gourmet or a member of the esteemed Tsukiyama family, but those of a man with a broken heart. “ _Would you please not go_?”

“I'm sorry, Tsukiyama,” he said, and for once the look in his eyes seemed tender. ( _No, call me Shuu._ ) “I appreciate you coming to stop me, but... I'm tired of not doing a thing.”

Kaneki stood and Tsukiyama's heart filled with worry and joy and terror and pride and agony. He had grown into a fine man, he thought, but a stupid, stupid one. And now he was going to go. He wanted to scream again, to shout, to say _anything_ , but he couldn't. 

Watching with the emptiest expression he had ever worn, he lay on the ground.


End file.
